Heartbleed
by Red Warrior
Summary: I swore to myself that I would leave regrets, pain and all those dark thoughts in a place I know I won't care to search: my past. But that is just the root of the problem. My past is anything but something I'm likely to forget.
1. Prologue: Nightmare

**Who has never wondered how Volke came to be the murderer we know? I gave it a try. Enjoy!**

**Prologue: Nightmare**

Pain. Blood. Darkness. Pain again.

I never ran so fast in my whole life. I don't usually run, to be honest, I always manage to hide or avoid who or what is following me. But this time it's different: the thing I'm running away from, or whatever it is, can't be fooled. Nor can it get tired of tracking me down. It has no name, no face, no shape, and at once it has thousands of each.

"Where do ye think you're runnin' boy?"

This only got me to run faster. I want this pain to stop, I can't stay like this for long. Physical pain I can bear, but this is another thing. What am I running from anyway? And where to? I don't seem to have thoughts anymore.

"You killed her! How could you!"

Her? Who is "her"? Does it really matter? It may be true, I may have killed her, I killed so many men and women I can't remember. No wait, that's not true, I only killed two women, and under special circumstances. I don't usually kill women, even I have a bit of dignity. Doesn't matter anyway, for women are seldom involved with the business that's my own.

"It hurts! Please stop! It hurts!"

Was that my own voice? It sounded like it. But I can't remember ever having said something like that. I have never begged someone to stop hurting me. I usually was the one inflicting pain, not receiving it. And even if I did get hurt during battles, there was no time to complain or beg – I hate that word. People think begging will make things change, but life knows no heart and fate cannot be changed. Mine couldn't. Mine just couldn't.

The voices are confusing now; everyone speaks at the same time and keeps on getting louder. What started out as a faint murmur is now a full-blown hailstorm of shouts, yells, threats and screams. I think my ears are going to explode, but suddenly there is no ground under my feet. And I fall.

I fall endlessly. The voices are still here, but I'm not. I'm falling, and I feel rather than see the ground nearing…

* * *

I wake up from my position sitting against a wall. I don't scream, screaming never does any good. I turn to my left to see if I am alone, and I'm not, because Bastian is sleeping on his side a few feet further. I didn't wake him up, and that's good because I don't want the wind sage to ask questions and make my business his own. He's well-known for that.

So I get up as soundlessly as possible, so as not to wake Bastian. It's not too hard anyway, I've spent my whole life on my toes, even if the reason why I did this changed at some point. It just sort of comes naturally now. I manage to stay completely silent, even here, in the middle of the forest where there are twigs and leaves scattered about the ground, in the dead of night. I walk past Bastian with ease, avoiding Lucia who is sleeping there as well. I should have known the golden retriever wouldn't have slept anywhere else than right next to his mistress.

I breathe in the cool night air. It is a pleasantly warm night, but then again, it is summer and we're in the middle of Crimea. The sky is clear and stars are shining down on us. It is horrible. Horrible that it absolutely doesn't matter to me. It has been a long time since I really appreciated something for what it was.

I get closer to the fire to see if there is some food left. I didn't eat last evening. Didn't want to eat with the lot of them. They are just so happy when they eat, I feel like I don't fit in the picture. Who am I kidding… I never fit anywhere.

There's a loaf of bread and some beef left on a plate, and I immediately know someone set that up for me. I frown; when will they get that it doesn't matter whether they worry for me or not? I'm about to leave the food right where it is when my stomach growls in disapproval; which is strange, because my stomach usually never rumbles. It's quite annoying to have your own body make noises as you try to stalk someone, so I learned to master my metabolism... somehow.

However, the rumbling quickly annoys me, so I grab the plate and bread and chuck down the food. Much like I've seen dogs do, I don't stop to register how dry the beef is, or how hard that piece of bread feels under my teeth, I just swallow everything to sate my stomach be done with it. I set the plate aside, near my left boot, and sit down on the grass.

Such a beautiful night. I guess.

I don't think I'll ever be able to enjoy such a night for what it really is. Right now, wheels are turning in my head, calculating that with the angle of the moon, the shadows of north-oriented walls would conceal me nicely, but that it would be foolish of me to try and hop from roof to roof because I sure as hell would be spotted immediately.

There.

That's the exact extend of how much I enjoy this night.

Or maybe I know why I can't like this night; it looks too much like that one night, the night that started it all. I sigh; I swore to myself that I would leave regrets, pain and all those dark thoughts in a place I know I won't care to search: my past. But that is just the root of the problem.

My past is anything but something I'm likely to forget.


	2. First Stab

**Chapter One: First Stab**

"Volke! Volke!"

The teenager sighed upon hearing the voice. From the sounds of it, something was upsetting his little sister. He should have known that some peace and quiet was nice, but always short-lived. However, Volke Pyre did not look up from the piece of wood he was carving as light footsteps indicated that his charming younger sister was running over to him.

"Good morning, Solea," he greeted when she stopped next to him. "What is the matter?"

"It's Hugo!" his infuriated fourteen year-old sister screeched, stomping her foot.

At this point, Volke stopped carving, and let his golden eyes meet his sister's blue ones. "Are you seriously coming to _me _because you're having problems with your boyfriend?"

"He kissed Luna! _Again!_" Solea seethed. "And he had the nerve to tell me he didn't do it on purpose! That boy, grr!"

Volke shrugged. "He must have mistaken her for you. I mean, you two _are _twin sisters after all."

"Well, then, how can you tell us apart? You've never had a problem with that!"

Volke sighed. His peaceful morning was completely forgotten. "It's not the same, I'm your brother, I've known the two of you since you were born, I just... I just can tell you two apart."

Solea let out an irritated sigh and plopped down next to her big brother. Volke chuckled and ruffled her chestnut hair gently, well aware that she hated it when people touched her hair. The young, almost seventeen year-old male smirked when she pushed his hand away and pouted.

Another normal day in Drizzia, Volke guessed. Aside from some horse races taking place from time to time in the streets – and as much as Volke liked horse riding, he seldom took part in such activities; the races were so violent that more often than not, many horses but also riders would lose their lives – and the usual thieves, Drizzia was quite the peaceful middle-sized town. Situated in Eastern Daein, it sure had known many a chilly winter, but its warm and sunny summer more than made up for it.

And it was one of those hot summer mornings; noon was approaching and the heat, for those who weren't used to it, was becoming near unbearable. Fortunately Volke, whether it was because he was born in August or something else, relished in the feeling the burning sun was creating on his skin. For some obscure reason, it made him feel alive.

But even the most pleasant occupations have to end at some point.

"Come on, let's head home, Mother will have my head if I don't bring you back before lunchtime," the brown-haired teenager told his sister as he got up.

Solea copied his moves, dusting her sky blue dress off, but frowned. "Why? We've been late before, it's not a big deal."

"Jekel is coming over for lunch today."

"Oh." Solea nodded in acknowledgment. Jekel, a forty-something year-old, red-haired man was an old family friend, and Volke's godfather. He lived on the other side of the town, and every now and then, Volke's mother would invite him over for lunch or dinner. At first, the young man had thought that his mother was just being polite, but with time he had come to believe that maybe, just maybe, his mother had a crush on the man.

And it wouldn't surprise him; she had spent many years alone, ever since his father left. Volke had very few memories of his father; he was about three or four year-old when the man left, never to come back. Up to this point, his mother still hadn't told him why her companion had disappeared, only a few months after the birth of his twin daughters, but Volke was convinced she knew. From the way her eyes faded to a dull shade of molten gold and her shoulders fell slightly when said man was mentioned, she couldn't fool anyone.

When he thought of his father, Volke mainly remembered red, and brown, and a booming voice. He couldn't tell if the man was tall, or short, or blond, or skinny. And in truth, he didn't care; something he found himself wondering what could be so dire about his mother, his sisters and himself that the man had to flee, and he almost always ended up angry. So, he had chosen not to question himself about it anymore; he was better off not knowing.

Volke shoved his half-carved piece of wood in his pocket and looked up to sundial; they were already late.

"Hey Sol," the boy called over his shoulder. When the younger girl looked his way, he grinned. "Wanna race home?"

And with these words, he ran off, leaving his sister behind in a puff of dust. He heard her complain a bit, but he knew it was just because he was ahead; Sol never refused a race.

Soon, Volke was diving through little-known streets, avoiding a few stray cats and jumping over barrels. As far back as he could remember, he had always loved those wild runs, the wind in his hair, the adrenaline pumping through his system. He had never had a problem with his balance, or speed, or stealth, even when he was a young boy. His mother often told him that he had inherited his father's traits, but those declarations were always accompanied by a pained smile, and Volke usually changed the topic of conversation.

The golden-eyed teenager jumped over the last fence and made a wild dash for a middle-sized pale yellow house on the other side of the large path, not knowing whether or not his sister was on his tail or still in the streets, and not caring. Volke ran for it with all his might and crashed into a pile of fallen leaves, just beneath the great apple tree that stood next to his home. "I win!" he hollered, his raised fists and failing feet the only visible things coming out of the heap.

"Not fair! You had a head start!" Solea growled as she walked up to the heap.

"I can't see what you're talking about," Volke teased as he nudged her with his foot.

The younger girl first sighed, but soon her brother's constant nudging had her giggling, and it wasn't long before she dove into the heap of dead leaves herself to wrestle it out with Volke, who laughed out loud.

They heard the door creak open. "You guys should know better than rolling around on the ground like kids... without me!" Volke and Solea barked out a laugh when Luna, the youngest of the three – even by two minutes – threw herself atop them to join the "fight". The siblings fooled around for the best part of twenty minutes, with mainly the twin sisters trying to take over Volke, to no avail.

And the fight would have gone on forever, too, if a gruff voice hadn't interrupted them.

"Ashera's bones, Malika, even dead leaves are alive!"

Volke stopped struggling and, after taking a look around, smiled. His mother and Jekel had come back from the market, judging by the basket the man was carrying; and the smile on Malika's face. Jekel's dark red hair had grown, and almost reached his shoulders, but Volke knew the older man wasn't trying to improve the way he looked; he merely sought to cover his torn ear, and ravaged side of his face. How he had acquired such a wound still remained a mystery to Volke, who felt it would be rude to ask about it, but the young one doubted it had been an accident.

Malika, a sandy-haired woman in her forty-third year, was looking at her offspring with a disapproving frown, but there was no mistaking the amused glint in her eyes. "Volke, I guess that if you feel you have too much free time, you could gather the fallen leaves... again," she smiled, patting her first born son's head as she made her way to the door, Jekel close behind. "But for now, you three come inside, lunch is ready."

The meal was a small affair; tomatoes, salad, pork and roasted potatoes. Not a high and mighty meal, but no meager food either. Sometimes, Volke wondered how his mother was able to buy this kind – and amount – of food while only being a healer. Well, a botanist, to be exact. He had seen and knew the cost of most of the items of the market, and he knew that meat, for example, was rather expensive. But he never questioned; like other things, it remained a mystery.

Volke was chatting with Jekel, who congratulated the young man on his horse riding skills.

"I swear, the way you ride Nox, it looks like the both of you are united as one!" the older man said with an appreciative smile, clearing the table. "And you keep getting better."

"Ah, I guess Nox learns fast," the young one said, scratching his nape. He had never been good with receiving congratulations. "He's a smart horse."

"He is not," Luna retorted. "Each time I try to get near him, he walks away."

"That just shows how smart he is," Volke teased, laughing when his sister kicked him.

"Speaking of Nox," Malika said as she carried the plates to her small kitchen, "I think the farrier said he would be ready by lunchtime. Could you go and fetch him? You know how he is..."

Volke inwardly cringed; the day before, he had gone on a short ride out of town, by the mountainside, and Nox had tripped, effectively dislodging his shoe and hurting the underside of his foot. Volke had brought him back to town and led him straight to the farrier; not without some apprehension. Indeed, Nox was as docile and friendly to humans as he was mean and aggressive towards other animals, especially other horses. Whenever Volke rode him, he made sure to tie him in such a way that he couldn't hurt his counterparts, and he had to be extra careful in the streets.

Leaving him for a few hours at the farrier's workshop might prove to be disastrous.

"Sure, I think I'll go get him now, I'm not sure the farrier can handle him," Volke said, handing his mother the rag he had used to wipe the table. "Do you want me to pick something up on the way? There's that book, you told me it looked good..."

"No, sweetie, it's fine, but I appreciate the offer," Malika answered with a fond smile. "Just run and get your horse before he mutilates every horse on this side of Drizzia."

"If you don't mind, I think I'm going to tag along," Jekel said as he neared Volke, clapping his godson's shoulder. "There's some business I have to attend to on the other side of Drizzia. Would you mind chatting for a while?"

Volke shook his head, smiling. "Of course not, sir."

"Call me Jekel, you little monkey," the strong scarred man chided, before turning to Malika. "Thank you for the meal, Malika, it was delicious as usual. You shouldn't spoil me that much, I might just get used to it!"

"Oh, she just wants you to come back again, and again, and again!" Solea chirped, and her twin sister put her hands over her mouth to hide her bouts of laughter.

Jekel looked over at Malika, who just rolled her eyes. "Is that so? Well, that's definitely a way to keep me coming back." He patted the girls' heads with a fatherly smile. "Goodbye, you two, and be good to your mother, I'm sure you know she's a great mom."

With a final wave from Jekel, and after Volke promised Solea he would speak – read _glare and growl out threats all big brother like – _to her boyfriend Hugo about him mistaking Luna for her on purpose, both men were off.

Volke held his godfather in high regards; the tall, muscular man inspired respect with every fiber of his being. His big hands could easily crush bones, and yet he had always ruffled Volke's hair with nothing but the gentlest care. His massive arms could probably strangle a stallion, and yet when he hugged the teenager and his sisters, there wasn't a softest embrace in the world. With a body such as his, Volke wondered what this "business" of his was.

His mother had told him that Jekel was an attorney; he traveled to meet his clients and searched through towns for some evidence that they were innocent. Somehow... this didn't fit Jekel at all.

His godfather's voice brought Volke back on Tellius. "I heard you got into a fight with Kaïn yesterday... again."

"He was asking for it," the brown-haired male replied, frowning, and the bruises he had gotten in that fight sprang to life upon being reminded of. "He spoke ill of my family."

"Oh really now." Jekel spent the next few seconds in silence, but eventually, he had to ask. "And what did he say?"

"He said I was a bastard son, and I let that slip because I don't care what he calls me. But then... he said I had no father because Mom was a whore and couldn't tell which of the men she had bedded was my biological father, or my sisters', and that's when I pounced on him." Volke growled at that memory. "He had that disgusting smirk, I just wanted to rip it off his nauseating face... sometimes I feel... I feel I might just be able to kill him..."

That last remark brought several minutes of deep silence, only broken by the men's footsteps. Jekel looked thoughtful, and Volke worried that maybe he had said too much, too quickly. He tried to make amends.

"I mean, I have _thoughts _of murdering him whenever he pulls stunts like those, but I wouldn't actually do it, you know... in cold blood... and all..."

"I understand," Jekel nodded. "But you shouldn't let him take advantage of you like this. He provokes you, and you're just giving him what he wants. You ought to try to master your emotions and tell yourself that, well, he's just another insensitive jerk. Those aren't uncommon in our world." The last sentence was said in a lower voice, and Volke wondered if Jekel spoke from experience.

"Well, it doesn't matter now, anyway," Jekel said, sighing.

"What do you mean?"

"What? Oh... I mean, the fight is over, and both of you are relatively unharmed, so there's no use in weeping over it." Jekel straightened and looked ahead. "This is where I stop, son. I'll leave you to fetch your horse; and if I may offer some advice, don't rush home: before lunch I saw a bunch of young ladies at the market, and I would bet my remaining ear that they are still here, and waiting for a handsome young man to show up." He flashed his godson a grin and winked. "Have a nice afternoon."

Volke rolled his eyes and bid his godfather a good afternoon as well. Girls in this town were too weird for him; and besides, they were too busy swooning over the boys who took part in the races to take notice of the discreet but yet good-looking brown-haired young man standing there.

So, it was with the purest haste that Volke jogged over to the market; despite his mother's refusal, he knew she wanted to read that book, and he had some money left from working at the blacksmith's the previous week, when said blacksmith's assistant came down with a fever. He knew buying her the book would be nice, even though he could already see her chastising him about spending money thoughtlessly. She was a great mother, after all, she deserved everything she could get.

He easily found and purchased the novel – _The Red Knights... _interesting – while browsing the stands. Getting away from the vendors was a tougher task, but he made it, and soon he was at the farrier's.

"Hello, Grey," Volke greeted as he walked into the workshop, the solid smell of metal mixed with horse fur and ashes invading his nostrils.

"Well, hello there, son," Grey, the burly farrier, replied from his position in front of the fire. "Yer horse is ok, he's waitin' for you in the back, though. Had to tie him there, he'd bite the other horses, the scoundrel."

"I'm on it, thank you for everything."

Volke wasted no time in reaching the small stall in the back of the workshop. Nox, smelling his master, began to stomp his hooves against the ground. "Calm down, calm down, I'm here boy," Volke said as he grabbed the harness and the saddle he had left the day before. He put both items on one wall of the stall, before opening the door.

Nox really was a beautiful stallion; he had been Volke's fourteenth birthday's gift, from Jekel. At the time, the horse wasn't even an adult, but now nearly three years later, he had matured into a gorgeous creature. He was tall, lean and slender, but his powerful muscles were visible under his skin, and were proof that the stallion could pack a good kick if needed. From his graceful legs to the top of his mighty head, his slick fur was the deepest shade of black Volke had ever seen on a horse.

Nox's clever gaze fell on his master, and he snorted. He was beautiful, and he knew it.

"Grey told me your foot is fine, do you feel up for a short ride?" Volke asked as he caressed his muzzle. The only answer he got was a loud neigh. "I'm going to assume this means yes."

Volke expertly saddled Nox, and put his harness on. He led the horse outside and, after thanking Grey again, hopped on the steed's back and trotted on the path.

It was such a beautiful day; they would enjoy a small detour on the way home.

Volke and Nox both were satisfied only after a twenty minute-long gallop through the fields out of town. The stallion's powerful hooves mercilessly hammered at the ground, crushing blades of grass and creating puffs of dust in his wake. On his back, Volke had never felt so alive; the wind slapping his face and his hands squeezing leather and horsehair, he supported the biggest grin possible. _Ashera, I love this horse! _

"Time to go home, old boy, you deserve fresh water and some apples," Volke said as he patted Nox's neck, tugging the reins left to lead the horse onto a path he knew led straight to his home.

As he neared his street, Volke smelt something that reminded him of fire, but there was another smell attached to it, like fried chicken but more... sickening. He guessed someone in the neighborhood was burning meat; he hadn't thought that possible before his neighbor, an old man going by the name of Jag, decided to incinerate his dog after the beast died. Most disgusting smell Volke had ever known.

Holding his mother's book in one hand and the reins in the other, Volke maneuvered Nox down the street. As the nauseating smell got stronger, even the stallion neighed and shook his head. His rider patted his neck soothingly. "Don't worry, it's just temporary, in less than an hour it will be..." His voice trailed off as he looked up, and he stopped the horse, bewildered, "... gone."

There was smoke coming from his home. Whether there were flames or not, he couldn't tell, because there was a mass of neighbors around the building, but it couldn't be good. Dread began to pool in his stomach when he saw the main door; it had been ripped off one hinge and was dangling pathetically on the other, twisted and torn, as if someone had barreled right through it. The two windows he could see were shattered, glass strewn everywhere on the grass. And that smell, that suffocating smell...

Volke dismounted quickly and ran to the house, pushing past the crowd without so much as a muttered apology; anything to get inside, and fast. He had a very, very bad feeling about all this. At long last, Volke pushed past the first row of shocked neighbors, and stopped dead, dropping the book he wasn't even aware he had been clutching.

The living-room was a mess of wood, stones, papers and ashes. Every piece of furniture, from the big table down to the stools, was broken, torn to pieces or merely tipped on the side. Smoke was clouding his sight, and he had to blink twice before he saw the hand poking out from under the heavy table, arm disappearing under it.

The teenager held his breath and ran over to the hand; from a small mark on the index finger, Volke realized that it was his mother's. "Mom! Mom, I'm here, it's okay!" The young one began to dig around the table to free it from the stones and rubble, and when finally he was able to lift the heavy table to fling it aside, he couldn't help the scream that escaped his throat.

There was no body. Just the arm, ragged and bloody where it had been cut away.

Volke took a few steps back and tripped, landing on his rear in the middle of the junk that once was a living-room. His hand fell on something warm, and wet, and his stomach churched when he realized that it was a leg, this time. Volke fought the urge to vomit and staggered back on his feet, his head swarming with anguished thoughts.

"Mother..." He was too flabbergasted to realize his mother's violent death, and then he noticed the bloodstains covering the wall of the stairs, as if someone had been dragged up or down the steps. His heart pounding, he ran up the stairs; he had to know what had happened upstairs as well.

His bedroom's door was open, and when he rushed inside, he almost tripped again. His walls were almost completely red from blood, his carpet, his desk, everything was covered with the red fluid of life. And on his equally red bed, his sisters – or rather, what remained of them – were spread out, lifeless. They were naked, but the thin blanket of blood made it seem otherwise; cuts, in their bellies and legs, indicated that their deaths hadn't been short, let alone painless.

Volke fell to his knees when his legs began to tremble too much to support his weight. He leaned his shoulder and his cheek against the door frame, staring at the horror scene right in front of him, his mouth open but unable to utter a single sound. His eyes were prickling, but whether it was from tears or smoke, he didn't know.

Not knowing what to do, or where to go, he remained in a state of shock for an undetermined period, before a hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder. He vaguely wondered if it belonged to one of the murderers – and he really didn't care if they came back to kill him, because he felt like he was dying inside – but a familiar voice spoke to him.

"Son, you can't stay here, whoever did that may come back and harm you," Hektor, the neighbor from across the street, told him gently. The middle-aged man then grabbed the catatonic teenager under the arms and pulled him to his feet with care. "I'll call the guards, but you must go away. Do you have a place to go to? If you don't, you can come home, our door will always be open for you, Volke."

Volke's mind was too numb to search for a place to go; he was about to accept Hektor's offer when something clicked in his head, and he slowly retreated from the man's grip. "I... I'm okay... I know where to go... Thanks, though."

And with those words, he realized he couldn't bear being in this house anymore. The bedroom he had played and taught his sisters how to walk on their hands in was now a morbid red cemetery. The living-room where he had spent so many happy meals and late night conversations in front of the fireplace was a mangled mess of dirt and torn limbs. A nightamre, it was a nightmare, it had to be!

Volke took off running down the stairs, blindly making for the door with his eyes half-closed to spare himself a second sight of the chaotic state of the living-room. Once he was outside, he pushed past the people still gathered there. He ignored the whispers of "Poor boy, he's so young, losing all of his family like that..." or "Maybe he ought to have died with them, that would have been less cruel..." and ran to Nox, who was waiting in the same spot he had been left. Without thinking twice, Volke hopped on the saddle and turned the horse around, nudging him forwards until the stallion was dashing through the streets.

Left, left, right, and straight ahead up to the well; Volke never thought panic would enhance his memory so much. When he caught sight of the familiar red bricks, he pulled on the reins with more force than was necessary and stumbled to the ground before Nox was completely still. Volke ran to the door; this was the only place he would be willing to go.

Furiously, he knocked. "Jekel! Jekel! Ashera please open the door!" He didn't realize he was shouting until people started to stop and stare.

Eventually, the heavy oak door opened, revealing a surprised red-haired man. "Volke? What the hell would have you yelling at my door like this? This is no way to act." Upon noticing his godson's panic-stricken face, his disheveled appearance, and the blood on his clothes, Jekel seemed to soften. "What is the matter?"

"They... they killed them!" the teenager blurted out, and the people who had stopped to listen gave each other weird looks. "I... I just went away for one hour, maybe two, then when I came back... Why, just why did this happen?"

Jekel put his arm around Volke's shoulders to soothe him. "Hush, hush, calm down... I don't understand, who was killed?"

"My family!" Volke's eyes were prickling again, but this time he knew that tears were responsible. "I don't know who did this, but they killed my mother, my sisters, and destroyed the house!"

Jekel stayed silent, likely stricken, and held his shaking godson against his chest for a few minutes. When he noticed that people were still here staring, and now talking among themselves, he gently led Volke inside. "You better stay here, they might be after you too," he instructed, gently squeezing the smaller shoulders. "I'll go there and investigate, maybe there's something I can do to ensure whoever did this gets punished. I'll lock the door and put your horse in the stable, why don't you try to rest a bit?" His voice was strong, but wavering ever so slightly.

Volke nodded numbly, and Jekel ruffled his hair with love. The teenager barely heard his godfather telling him that there was food in the cupboard if he was hungry, and that he could take the guest room. And then he was gone.

Volke didn't remember walking to the guest room, but in a matter of minutes he was sitting on the edge of the bed, with his elbows on his knees and his eyes locked on the floor.

Alone.

As he would be from then on.

It is that thought that finally broke his barriers, and the tears finally flowed down his cheeks. For hours, Volke cried hard, curled up in a ball on the bed, only glad that there was nobody around to witness it. It wasn't until the late hours of the afternoon that sleep claimed his distraught mind; and even then, Volke's eyes weren't dry.

* * *

Volke regained consciousness when a strong hand shook him awake. He opened his eyes, abnormally edgy; but then again, what _was _normal that day? He blinked in the darkness but couldn't see anything.

"Wake up, we have to go," Jekel's voice whispered.

"Go? Where?" Volke groaned as he sat up slowly, the day catching up to him.

"You'll know soon enough, for now just get ready, we're leaving in five minutes." A bundle of cloth was pressed into Volke's hands. "Put this on and join me." And with that said, Jekel walked out of the guest room; or at least Volke guessed he did, because he couldn't see a goddamn thing in the dark. The young one slipped the overly large shirt he was given – on second thoughts, it felt like some sort of cloak, with a hood – and reached out to grab the candle that sat on the nightstand, but was halted by his godfather's voice from the living-room. "And _don't _light anything. Nobody must know we're leaving."

Now intrigued, Volke got up to join Jekel – it wasn't as if he had many things to pack, everything he owned besides the clothes on his back and Nox had been destroyed or irreversibly tampered with. He found the older man in the living-room, with the stars shining outside providing the only light in the house; Jekel looked like he was shoving things in a bag.

"Where are we going?" Volke asked again, in hope that this time, he would get an answer.

"Somewhere safer," Jekel just said as he closed the bag and flung it on his back. "Are you ready? It's best if we leave now, night has fallen and there's a high probability that we won't be seen." At Volke's exhausted and confused nod, Jekel sighed. "I'm sorry, this is a bit sudden for you... but you can't stay here anymore. You might get killed. But I can't tell you where we're going just yet."

Volke let Jekel lead him to the stable. He mounted Nox as his godfather saddled a deep brown mare, and he stared thoughtfully at the starry skies. He was leaving everything and everyone he had ever known behind, while in the morning he was playing with his little sisters. And he didn't even know where he was going. The only comfort he had, he got it from stroking Nox's neck as the stallion stood still, somehow aware that something wasn't right.

As soon as he was in his saddle, Jekel pulled on his hood – Volke felt compelled to do the same – and nudged his horse, leading the way out of the stable. Volke noticed the older man made sure to stay silent, and maneuvered his horse to walk in the shadows of the buildings. Nox followed obediently, and his rider was grateful, because there was too much on his mind right then to worry about walking in shadows. They looked like two criminals sneaking out of town after a robbery, for Ashera's sake! What game was Jekel playing?

Once they were out of town, Volke made to remove his hood but Jekel stopped him. "Don't, you'll lower it when we're away, don't give us away now."

"I still don't understand why we're running away as if we were... murderers, or something," Volke mumbled, quite put out and confused. When his godfather didn't respond, he sighed. "So, where to?"

"The mountains. Let's go, there's no time to lose."


	3. Arkane

**Chapter Two: Arkane**

One day, Volke had sworn that he would never, ever get tired of riding a horse.

He had been wrong.

After four entire days and nights riding through the mountains, Volke couldn't even feel his rear end anymore. His hands were rough and painful from holding the reins, and his legs were weary from squeezing Nox's flanks from the wee hours of the morning until late at night, when finally Jekel decided they could afford to sleep one hour or two before carrying on. They would eat some dried meat and bread Jekel had in his bag, sleep restlessly on the hard, cold ground, and then they would go on.

While in the mountains, the daytime heat was nearly unbearable, the nights were incredibly cold. Volke was literally bathing in his own sweat in the afternoons, and freezing in it once night fell. He thanked his strong immune system, for a weaker man would have been ill already.

He discovered that Jekel wasn't very talkative; the elder man rode ahead, sometimes glancing around in case someone was following them – and _who _the heck would follow someone to the top of a mountain was a mystery, to Volke anyway – but, signals to stop and to go on put aside, Jekel kept silent. Hours could tick by without so much as a word being exchanged between the two males.

So, for the past four days, Volke's grief for his lost family had been the only company he was provided with. And after mulling over sad thoughts and regrets for four days, Volke was thoroughly destroyed, even more so than when he had first witnessed the bloody wreck that was left of his home. His shoulders were slumped, and his head hung low, letting his hood cover his expressionless features. His eyes remained dry, though; he had shed every tear in his body back at Jekel's house. That, and he would never cry openly in front of his godfather.

However, when the mountainside softened out into an endless valley, nestled between miles and miles of perilous-looking peaks of gray stone, Volke barely contained a distressed howl; just how far were they going to ride? His hands, his back and his neck were killing him, his stomach was growling its despair, and he would soon collapse from exhaustion. He wasn't sure he could hold on for much longer. Nox too was tired, he could feel the stallion's muscles tremble and his flanks heave between his thighs after every ascent, however small it was.

Then, just when Volke readied himself for a fifth day of traveling under the merciless sun, a blessing took the form of a few words in Jekel's mouth: "We're almost there, just around that corner. Don't talk, I'll handle it."

Volke was about to voice his relief, but when he opened his mouth he was caught in a coughing fit. His vocal cords had not been used much in the past four days, and his voice was too hoarse to form actual words; so the teenager only nodded. He patted Nox's neck, silently assuring the beast that they would soon stop walking.

Curiosity and impatience tugged at Volke's heart when they neared the "corner" - an over-sized, overturned boulder, really – although he didn't know what he should be expecting exactly. A town? A farm? Jekel had instructed him to stay silent, and that he would talk, which meant he knew there would be people there, wherever "there" was. And people just didn't live outside like that in the middle of the mountains of Daein.

Eventually, they rounded the corner, and Volke raised his head in anticipation. He blinked, once, twice, but after some minutes of intense gazing, he had to face the truth: there was nothing.

Nothing but miles and miles of high rocky cliffs encasing the valley as far as the eye could see, and even farther than that. He glanced at Jekel, wondering if the harsh sun had gotten to his godfather's head, but the man had not halted. He was steering his mare to a particular spot in the cliff, it seemed, and after some time, Volke could see there was some sort of hole in the wall of stone, partially obscured by boulders; an entrance.

The young man's curiosity peaked again, and he gently nudged Nox into walking right behind Jekel's horse.

Soon enough, they reached the entrance. It was fairly large, and completely unnatural; there were digging marks all around it, and beams had been nailed to its roof to prevent anything from collapsing. The entrance gave way to a deep tunnel and, just where darkness began to get too thick, there was a set of heavy metallic doors. There were patterns on the door, but they were standing too far away to distinguish anything.

And, surprisingly, there was nobody.

The gate looked heavy, but it would certainly yield after some pushing. Volke was about to dismount to gauge the doors' solidity, but Jekel stopped him by lifting his hand. Volke complied, staying put, but throwing suspicious looks left and right from under his hood. He was beginning to feel eyes on him, as if someone was spying on them, and his throat tightened a bit. He should at least have had enough sense to bring along a knife, or anything that could act as a weapon; he felt terribly helpless.

"State your name, and what your business here is," shot a deep voice from somewhere above them, startling Volke.

Jekel, on the other hand, was unmoved. He lowered his hood, uncovering his face, before he answered calmly, as if he were asked this kind of thing everyday: "I'm Jekel, I came to see the Wolf."

"Thought we would never get to see your ugly face around here again, One Ear," the same gruff voice said, and Volke could almost feel the mirth in those words.

A shadow moved to his right, making him clutch the reins. Dressed from head to toe in black and various shades of gray, a tall, lanky man hopped gracefully on a boulder, a scarf hiding the lower part of his face. His clothes, although very simple in appearance, were without any doubt designed to allow him to move freely. But what caught Volke's golden eyes were the five, deadly-looking daggers that were strapped to the man's belt, glinting under the sun. He had never seen so many weapons at once on the same person, not even on the guards in town, and this couldn't be good. Still, Jekel didn't look the least bit worried.

The newcomer lowered his scarf, uncovering a scarred mouth twisted into an ill-boding grin, his chocolate eyes alight with mischief. "I hope you're not expecting any "welcome back" from me, because if that's the case, you're going to be sadly disappointed."

"And I can't say I've missed your irksome person either, Thanatos," Jekel replied casually, an amused smile on his face. "As for being disappointed, you don't have to worry. I got used to being disappointed in you over the years."

The man, now known as Thanatos, growled and rested his hand on one dagger, his fingers twitching over the handle but not quite unsheathing it. "Why, you son of a..."

"Thanatos, you ought to pay more respect to your elders," a new voice, softer than Thanatos' but still strong, called out.

Another man, wearing the same black and gray outfit, but without the scarf, emerged from the mass of fallen rocks on the right side of the gate. He only had two daggers hanging on his belt, but a scabbard at his left hip concealed a long sword. He had short, evenly-cropped dark blond hair, and while he didn't look as suspicious as Thanatos, his deep blue eyes never strayed away from the two riders.

Upon seeing him, Jekel chuckled. "Eros and Thanatos," he scoffed. "And they put on guard duty at the same gate, too. Now that's clever."

"Our Master likes to think himself funny," Thanatos hissed, now giving Volke curious looks but never mentioning him. The teenager wished he could hide and disappear under his hood, just so he could escape the piercing brown gaze that seemed to see right through him.

The one called Eros looked worried. "We haven't heard from you in a while. The Master was concerned about your whereabouts."

"I had a lot of things on my plate, I couldn't find time to keep in touch. I'll apologize about that to the Master."

Eros nodded. "Very well. And who's traveling with you?" he asked suddenly, and Volke tensed visibly, as if he had been caught doing something wrong.

"He is one of the Pups," Jekel answered.

There was silent pause, during which Volke wondered why he was being referred to as a dog's offspring, and Thanatos barked out a laugh.

"You really think I'm going to believe you? Why in hell would a Pup need to come here? They're not even supposed to know this place!" The man's fingers were back on the handle of his dagger. "You're not trying to sneak an intruder inside, are you, One Ear?"

"The Den was destroyed, I'm bringing him back to the Wolf," Jekel explained, and whereas both guards looked stunned by his declaration, Volke had no idea what was going on. And he was seriously beginning to fret.

Thanatos looked thoughtful. "I want to see his face," he ordered then, and Eros nodded.

Volke turned to his godfather and, when the elder man nodded, he took the hem of the hood between his fingers and pulled it back, exposing his aching features to the burning afternoon sun, and to the sight of the guards.

Eros' eyes widened slightly. "He is a Pup, there's not doubt. The way he holds his head, and those eyes... Brother, I cannot be mistaken."

"Hmm." Thanatos looked contemplative for the best part of two minutes, but he sighed and ran a hand through his short blond hair. "I guess he does look like the Wolf... a bit. We'll open the gate," he relented grudgingly.

Both men retreated back to the shadows, and before long, the heavy doors were noisily sliding open, screeching against the stone. Nox neighed nervously, but Volke patted his mane to soothe him; although, to be honest, he was the one who needed reassuring at the moment.

Jekel led the way through the gate, his mount's hooves making sharp clicking sounds against the stone. Nox followed obediently, but his lazy steps told Volke that the stallion was utterly spent. He needed rest, and soon. Fortunately, the tunnel provided them with shade and fresh air, both of those things being quite refreshing after hours of intense sunlight. The pain in Volke's sunburned hands lessened to a bearable level and his lungs relished in the cool breeze that swept along the passage.

Just as Volke's eyes became accustomed to the dark, there was light at the end of the tunnel, and he couldn't help but groan at the thought that they were going back outside. He would have gladly spent one hour or two bathing in the coolness of the man-made passageway.

The sudden brightness of the outside world made Volke's eyes itch, and he had to close them a little while to shield them. Tentatively, he subjected one golden eye to the light of day, then the other. And what he saw made him forget to blink.

"Welcome to Arkane," Jekel said over his shoulder. "The hidden city."

Surrounded by cliffs and peaks, nestled in the crook of the mountain and almost carved into the stone, was a village. There were about two or three dozens small houses, not necessarily separated by streets and not really organized. A yard away from the gathering of houses stood a small farm; Volke could see a medium-sized field with what looked like corn crops, and a few cows in a pen. On the other side of the village, there was a large enclosed parcel, and if Volke squinted a bit, he could see people fighting in the pitch.

Above the fighting pitch, there was a small winding path that led straight to the town's most intriguing asset: a whole castle, carved directly into the side of the mountain. Deep blue flags were adorning its towers, and a big, majestic wolf was standing in all its sculpted glory atop the highest tower. It looked like the lifeless eyes were watching protectively over the city, its giant claws ready to strike.

Volke was shaken from his observations by a sudden jerk from Nox. "Calm down, you're going to rest, just a few more- whoa!" the rider yelped when his stallion sprang forward at top speed, his tired muscles coming to life. Volke groaned when his aching parts protested against the violent jolt, and he did his best to just hang on and wait until Nox was done running. And anyway, _where _was the horse heading to at this speed?

Volke willed the pain in his hands away and raised his head; when he caught sight of a few horses in a paddock near the houses, his eyes widened and he pulled the reins for all he was worth. "No! Leave them alone! This is not the place to go and murder your kin, not now, please!" he hissed, but Nox would have none of that. The horse just jumped over the fence and Volke, not prepared and not able to hold on because of his exhausted limbs, slipped off the saddle and on the grass with a gasp.

He scrambled to his feet to retrieve Nox before he could do serious harm; however, he stopped when he saw that the antisocial, aggressive stallion was nuzzling a white horse under the head. He was dumbstruck for a moment, forgetting even his pain. What he had mistaken for wrath had in fact been... affection? But Nox _hated _other horses!

A chuckled sounded from behind Volke, and he turned to see Jekel's mare calmly jumping over the fence and stopping to allow her rider to dismount. "Leave him be, he'll be taken care of," the one-eared man instructed as he patted his steed's neck before he let her go.

With one last look at Nox, who was now peacefully eating hay from the food trough, Volke followed Jekel out of the paddock. He was again made aware of the beating sun, and was tempted to pull on his hood; but Jekel had said nothing of the sort, so he just walked and bore the sun's harsh kiss.

It became clear that they were heading to the castle as Jekel bypassed the houses without slowing down. He saluted whoever they came across with a nod; almost all of them were men, and they wore outfits which bore a strong resemblance to Thanatos' and Eros'. Middle-aged men, most of them, although Volke spotted young boys, and even a teenager who couldn't be older than himself. No matter how old they were, they all stopped whatever they were doing when the two riders came into their line of sight, and stared.

Volke felt uncomfortable under their questing looks, and considered asking Jekel if he could put his hood on. It became even worse when they began whispering among themselves, clearing speaking about him; a young boy even pointed at him. He itched to just ask what their problem was, but he decided it wouldn't be wise to lash out at people who, according to Jekel, were on his side.

So he just kept his eyes focused on the ground in front of his feet until they were past the houses and started walking up the winding path. But unfortunately for him, the area surrounding the castle was packed with what he could only describe as guards; armed, masked men who were either patrolling or unmoving, but were all staring at him from above their scarves. And when they bypassed the fighting pit, the three men who had previously been fighting one another lowered their weapons and watched.

_They never get visitors, or what? _Volke wondered, annoyed and frustrated by the constant staring. _Well, I guess tourism isn't one of the town's assets... and even if they're not enemies, they sure don't look friendly. _

Eventually they reached the gate, an enormous arch which had to be at least thirty feet high and ten feet wide, guarded by a dozen armed men. When Volke and Jekel approached, one of them, his outfit a dark brown color with a white sash around his waist, stepped up and got in their way. "Halt," he ordered.

Volke complied and watched the man; his hair was forest green, as were his eyes and the ragged stubble upon his chin, and his attire looked more sophisticated than everyone else's. He was the only one to possess a white sash, and from his stance, one could tell that he was more than a low-grade guard.

"Greetings, Lieutenant," Jekel said politely. "I wish to speak with the Master."

"You are lucky you are one of the Master's most prized friends, or you wouldn't get away so easily with not keeping in touch for ten years," the lieutenant growled, and some of the guards behind him nodded.

"There are more important matters at hand, as it is. Let me through."

The lieutenant bit back a witty comment and stepped aside, though a dark look remained on his face. Jekel wasted no time in walking past the dangerous-looking men, and Volke stayed close, feeling a little bit too edgy.

When they were about to enter the castle, Jekel turned to him. "Put your hood back on, and let me do the talking. Everything is going to be fine."

Volke nodded and gratefully slipped on the piece of cloth, feeling astonishingly protected by that simple gesture. The hood covered most of his face, except his mouth and chin, which bore a slight four day stubble that itched like hell. He obediently followed his godfather inside the empty hallway, his worn-out boots making sharp sounds on the tiled floor. The walls were a dull shade of gray, but they were decorated with so many flags and tapestries that their bare appearance could be easily forgotten. On both sides of the hallway, there were flights of stairs disappearing right into the mountainside.

On the other side on the giant room, there were two persons who had their backs to the two newcomers. The left one was a man, Volke could tell; he had square shoulders and a lean but muscular upper body, encased in a white shirt with golden edgings around the collar and the sleeves. He had long, brown hair, a shade lighter than Volke's, and his hands were crossed behind his back. If it weren't for the red-tinted dagger at his hip, he would have looked at peace.

The other one was definitely a young woman, not much older than Volke himself. Her long ebony hair was pulled into a ponytail that rested on her graceful nape, and she was wearing the same brown clothes than the men outside – shaped, of course, to fit her womanly curves. Her right hand rested on the handle of a short sword as she discussed with the man next to her.

Jekel neared them until he was within hearing range and cleared his throat, letting them know he was here. Both beorcs turned around, and Volke was immediately struck by the girl's beauty. Her amethyst eyes looked like they could see right through people, and her delicate face was scrunched up in an effort, Volke guessed, to identify Jekel. However, the man's golden eyes lit up instantly when they fell onto the one-eared man.

"Jekel! I thought you'd never come back!" he said with a warm smile, as he turned away from the window and approached.

"I apologize for worrying you, Master."

The man groaned. "Could you please do me a favor? Call me by my name, not my title, that would be a refreshing change. I don't recall calling you by your rank."

"I merely wish to express my respect toward you, Master," Jekel grinned when the amber-eyed man gave him a warning look which had Volke gulping. Wasn't Jekel pushing his luck? "All right, Sebastian, I was only joking."

"So you were." Sebastian motioned for the young woman to come closer. "I suppose you remember Lyna, don't you?" The girl bowed a little.

"Lyna... Ashera, you've grown so much... How old are you now, fifteen, sixteen?"

"I'll be seventeen in a month," she answered with a polite smile.

"Has it really been ten years already? Time flies..."

"And in those ten years, you never found a couple of minutes to sit down and write to me?" Sebastian scolded, folding his arms over his chest as he walked closer. Volke noticed the man was limping a little, and tried not to put too much weight on his right leg.

The two men, towering at the same height, were one foot apart and glaring at one another. It was frightening, Volke thought, that in a town that was supposed to be a safe place they had received nothing but harsh comments and disdainful remarks. And now the man they all referred to as "Master" seemed to be mad at Jekel too.

Well that was what he thought before Sebastian dissolved into amused chuckles and gave Jekel a brotherly hug, which was returned immediately. "I'm so glad you're back," the white-clad man said. "I was beginning to get bored."

"I told you countless times, there's a bunch of pretty women here just waiting for you to say the word," Jekel replied, smirking, as he patted Sebastian's back.

The Master laughed. "And I told you countless times that I would never do that, I'm married and I love my wife, thank you very much. She'll rip my head off if she learns that I'm jumping in other women's beds while she does nothing of the sort."

Jekel's smile faltered, and finally disappeared. "I don't think she will, now," he mumbled.

"What do you mean?" Sebastian asked, giving his friend a puzzled look.

There was a slight pause, and Jekel glanced at Lyna. "I have to talk to you... in private."

"Oh. Lyna, would you be kind enough to see how the trainees are faring out there? I'm afraid the new ones don't even know how to wield a sword, or which end of a dagger they ought to hold."

The young woman nodded and gracefully made her way outside. She may be the only girl he had seen so far here, but Volke thought she was pretty enough for a dozen.

"Should your companion leave too?" Sebastian was trying to get a look at Volke from under the hood, and one could tell he was sorely tempted to ask that the young man remove it.

"No, he's the main reason I've come here. Sebastian, you might want to sit down for this."

"Why, she's having another child at it's not mine? If that's the case, then be at peace my friend, for I visited her seven months ago and we didn't just sit and talk, if you get my drift," Sebastian said, crossing his arm once again with a smirk. Obviously, he wasn't going to sit down.

Jekel sighed and thought for a little while, pondering how he should tell his friends the news. "Five days ago," he began softly, "there was an attack, on the house your men like to call _the Den_."

That piece of information, although Volke was clueless as to why, wiped the smirk right off of Sebastian's face as the man was stunned into silence. "What happened to them?" he asked under his breath after some time, and when the one-eared man said no more, he growled. "Tell me what happened to them, Jekel!"

"They are dead." And it came as a blow to the head for Sebastian, who staggered back until his back hit a wall. With a bewildered look upon his features, the man slid down to the ground. His golden eyes were staring off into space as he definitely struggled to come to terms with what Jekel had just said.

"I... I made sure no one was following me," he said, dumbstruck. "How did they find the house? Someone must have told them, I thought... I thought I had hid them perfectly... and now they're dead..." Sebastian burrowed his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped.

Jekel knelt beside his friend and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm dreadfully sorry, old friend, but there was nothing I could do to save your wife and daughters."

Wife and daughters? Even after four days of non-use, Volke's brain clicked. Jekel was talking about his mother and his sisters; so could that man, Sebastian, be...

"And my son? Where's Volke, Jekel, what happened to my boy?"

"I brought him to the safest place I know," he said, and gave the hooded teenager a pointed look.

Volke only had five seconds to put two and two together before Sebastian scrambled to his feet and rushed his way. Before he could think, the young man was swept into a strong embrace that threw his hood back, and even though his aching limbs cried out in protest, he ignored them; after all, that was his father hugging him.

"You were standing here and I didn't even recognize you," Sebastian mumbled, and he pulled away to get a good look at Volke's face. "You've grown so much... I..." The elder man struggled with words for a moment and, when he realized he couldn't utter a proper sentence, brought his son back against him for another hug.

Jekel smiled fondly at the pair. "I'll leave you two alone then," he said as he got up from his kneeling position and headed outside. "You have a lot of catching up to do."

Sebastian held Volke to his chest for a few minutes more and pulled away, putting his wide hands on either side of his son's face with a sad smile. "I wish we could have met under different circumstances... but still, I'm happy to see you, son."

Volke smiled too; many men in Drizzia had called him "son" in a polite, fatherly way whenever they didn't use his given name, but for the first time it felt accurate. He knew that he should be angry at his father for leaving his family, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. The man already looked so... shattered.

"Has Jekel been good to you? I know he's not really fun to travel with..."

"Yes, Father," Volke meant to say, but it came out as a hoarse hiss and he coughed. He still hadn't gotten his voice back.

Sebastian's golden eyes widened. "Ashera, I'm so sorry, I forgot you're not used to such journeys," he said as he steadied Volke. "I'll get you some food and water, but first come on, we have a lot of free rooms and I'm sure you want to rest."

Volke shook his head and, still coughing a bit, raised his hands to stop his father. He wanted to sleep, of yes, and the thought of fresh food and water wasn't unpleasant. But first and foremost, he had dozens of questions to ask his father. However his raised hands did not have the desired effect, for it brought his sunburned and ragged palms right in front of Sebastian's eyes.

"What in hell, Volke! Did you use a grater as soap? Let's get you to a bedroom then I'll call a healer, come on, this way," his father instructed gently as he wound one arm around Volke's waist.

It looked like questions would have to wait.


	4. The Wolf, the Hawk, the Shark

**Chapter Three: The Wolf, the Hawk, the Shark**

Not even ten minutes later, Volke found himself sitting on the edge of a bed, his clothing gone but for his shirt and pants. He was holding his hands out for the healer to see; the situation would be less awkward if the healer wasn't the pretty girl his father had been talking to before he and Jekel had come in.

"Her father is the town's official healer," Sebastian had explained. "Unfortunately he's not available right now, but Lyna is really skilled in the medical field. I'm sure she'll take good care of you, and while she patches you up, I'll go and fetch some food for you."

And so, Volke was sitting still as Lyna rubbed salve on his abused hands. Her soft, cool skin felt nice against his hot and torn palms, but he didn't dare look at her in the eyes. He was aware of his messy hair, his unshaven face, his smell after four days riding through the mountains, and his general state of disarray. Although he had no intention to look his best or to impress her, he felt embarrassed that she should see him in this state.

"Are you hurt elsewhere?" Lyna asked as she wrapped bandages around his hands and forearms, and Volke involuntarily raised his head and plunged his golden gaze into her amethyst one.

He shook his head. "It's not a big deal, I can manage," he mumbled. He had bruises on his thighs from squeezing Nox's sides for so long, and of course his entire pelvic area felt sore from sitting in the saddle. But it wasn't like he was going to admit _that _to her, healer or not.

"Look, I'm here to help you, and I'll have you know that I despise this whole male chauvinism thing," the girl said sharply. "If you're hurt anywhere else, just tell me, it won't be anything I've never seen before."

Volke was a bit taken aback by her firm tone of voice, and grudgingly humored her. "Got bruises on my legs, I think, nothing else," he said, and that was partly true, but for the "nothing else" part.

"Take off your pants," Lyna instructed, and she dug into her bag of medical supplies for another jar of salve. Mercifully, this spared her the sight of Volke's faint blush.

_She's a healer, she's just a healer doing her job, _the young man kept repeating in his mind as he unbuckled his belt and slipped his brown worn out pants off, which left him in his underwear.

Carefully, she applied salve on his thighs, and Volke swore he was burning from embarrassment. Not just that, but she was rubbing the inside of his thighs, too, and if she reached just a little higher she would be-

"I-It's okay," he stammered before she crossed the boundary between healing and something else. "I think you got it covered. And there are a lot of things I need to talk about with my father."

Lyna looked genuinely confused. "Are you sure? There's a burn on your hip, and it looks like your back is killing you..."

"I'll be all right, promise, all I need is some rest," Volke said, although he mentally added _and some answers too_.

"Well... Just keep that jar, and rub some salve in your hands whenever they start to hurt," she instructed as she deposited a small jar of the soothing balm on the nightstand. "You won't do much touching for the next three days I guess." She closed her medicine bag and stood to take her leave as Volke mumbled his thanks.

But when she was about to exit the room, she stopped and turned to him. "And take a bath, you smell worse than a heap of dung in a swamp in summer." With those words, she was out.

Volke blinked; he had been told off by a girl younger than him even though he had done nothing to deserve it? What the hell was this town? _I've never seen a weirder place, _he thought as he looked around the room he had been given; it was quite simple, with only one door and one window. The bed he was sitting on had been put under the window, facing the door, and there was a small desk against the wall in the far corner.

At the end of the bed there was a large chest; it was unlocked, and Volke found some clothes inside: loose beige pants with a matching beige tunic. Without thinking, Volke struggled out of his abused shirt and slipped on the clean outfit, marveling at the comfort he got from the washed clothing. He could wash later, he wouldn't last ten minutes in a bathtub without falling asleep anyway.

"Ah, you changed already, good," Sebastian's voice came from the door frame. Volke turned his head and offered him a small smile. The man was carrying a tray with a loaf of bread, some cheese, an apple, a pear and a big glass of water. "I'm sure you're ready to eat more, but your stomach has to get used to food again, so take it easy at first."

Volke nodded but when Sebastian deposited the tray on the nightstand, it took every ounce of his willpower not to wolf down everything in five minutes. He paced himself and ignored his roaring stomach, eating the bread and cheese first. Sebastian grabbed the wooden chair from the desk and dragged it next to the bed, sitting down on it to watch his son for a while.

"I saw you came with Nox," Sebastian said with a small smile when Volke was done eating. "You took good care of him, he looks healthy."

"How do you know Nox?" his son asked, a bit confused. He didn't remember mentioning his horse, let alone showing his father which one it was.

Sebastian lightly hit his forehead. "I'm sorry, I forgot you didn't know. Nox was born here, his parents were Arkane's fastest and strongest horses, I hoped their offspring would be just as good. So I sent him to Jekel, who gave it to you."

_So that might explain why Nox was so happy to be back, _Volke thought. _And this explains why he was so mean to other horses, I guess he only stands Arkane's horses. _

"And from what I saw, he lived up to my expectations," Sebastian said.

"He's a great horse," Volke agreed with a nod. "The greatest gift I ever received."

"Well, I wanted my only son's fourteenth birthday to be special. Here, in Arkane, you can start training as soon as you turn fourteen."

At this Volke was thoughtful; he guessed it was as good a time as any to start with his questions, and the sooner it would be done, the sooner he would be able to sleep. "What exactly is this town? Why is it hidden, and what do people do in here?" he asked with caution.

His father visibly tensed, and sighed. "I guess this question would have come up sooner or later, anyway," he said, not looking directly at Volke for a moment before locking golden gazes together again. "People who live here have pledged their lives to bring some peace and order in Tellius, and the means we use to accomplish that are the reason we have to hide."

"People are after you?" Volke tried, not really getting it.

"The whole world is after us, son. We are assassins."

After those words, Sebastian kept silent and gave Volke an uneasy look, worrying about his son's reaction. But Volke was just too surprised to be revolted. "You're assassins. As in, people who... kill people?"

"No, assassins as in people who host parties and plan weddings," was almost what Sebastian wanted to bite back, but he reminded himself that his son had traveled a long way, and lack of sleep was taking its toll on him. "Yes, son. The purpose of Arkane is to hide, protect and train assassins. I don't expect you to understand right now, but we don't just kill people. We bring order, peace, we do what others feel they should do but are unable to."

"For money," Volke snorted.

"For money, yes," Sebastian admitted. "You really think I could magically keep this town up and running? Moreover, killing in cold blood is never easy, you have to pay with a part of yourself. And the men we work for, most of the time, feel like money is a part of them. This is merely equity."

It felt morbid, sitting here and talking about such things, right after learning that his father killed people – albeit, seemingly, of the bad kind – for a living. "This is a bit too much information for me," Volke muttered, fidgeting with his bandaged hands.

"I expected so, son, and I suggest you sleep and we talk about it in the morning," Sebastian said as he patted Volke's knee and got up from his chair.

A glance toward the windows informed the young man that night had fallen, and the only light in the room came from the candle on his nightstand. He wanted an explanation, he wanted answers... but he also craved the sweet embrace of sleep.

"In the morning, then," he said under his breath as he nodded, and was barely aware of his father blowing out the candle and his head hitting the pillow before he was sound asleep.

* * *

Volke awoke to the sound of clashing swords. He sat up abruptly and, his mind still heavy with sleep, looked around. He was alone in a room that wasn't the least bit familiar; where the hell had he fallen asleep the previous night?

_Oh, _he thought grimly as he gradually remembered. The murder, the journey, and now, this town. Arkane. He had slept in the middle of a city full of assassins; just thinking about it was enough to send shudders down his spine. He didn't know if he would ever come to terms with the fact that his father was a murderer, a good night's rest had done nothing to change that.

There was another metallic clang, and Volke instinctively turned to the window. Crawling across the bed in his half-awoken daze, the brown-haired youth grabbed the windowsill and, shielding his eyes from the sun, looked outside.

He found out his room was just above the fighting pit, and he could clearly see the fighters. His eyes widened and were robbed of sleep when he recognized them; his father and his godfather were circling each other in the makeshift arena, with a large group of younger boys wearing gray tunics – novices, Volke figured out – watching from behind the fence.

Sebastian was wearing a simple white shirt with brown pants on his body, and a smug grin on his face which stretched his stubble-covered cheeks. From his window, Volke could even see the gleam of his bared teeth as he walked carefully, a dagger in his right hand; he was suddenly reminded of a wild animal, looking at ease but inwardly ready to leap.

Jekel was frowning, seemingly in deep concentration, and his piercing gaze never left Sebastian. He was watching the other man like a hawk watches his prey, with cold calculating care, but... with hatred as well. It looked like Jekel, if given the chance, would tear Sebastian to shreds without a second thought with the long sword he was clutching.

Sebastian was pacing, while Jekel almost didn't move, following the other man with his eyes only. Suddenly, Sebastian lunged just as he was about to leave Jekel's peripheral vision, and ran at his adversary with amazing speed.

The audience gave a startled gasp as Jekel rolled out of the way at the last minute, avoiding Sebastian's attack in the nick of time. Any other man would have had his throat slit open, but Jekel stood up and faced Sebastian again, his face still emotionless but his eyes held a twinkle of triumph.

All sense of stealth lost, Volke's father dove in the fight, dagger first, and Jekel countered with his sword – producing the exact sound that had woken the teenager – blow after blow. Eventually, the one-eared man caught Sebastian's arm and twisted his wrist, effectively making him drop his weapon; but unfortunately for him, his opponent took advantage of this to kick the sword out of his hand. Both fighters were now weaponless, but not about to give up.

Some nasty punches were exchanged – Volke winced involuntarily when a particularly swift kick landed on his father's ribs – and both fighters, though moving quite gracefully for forty-something year-old men, were running out of energy. Trying to put an end to the fight, Jekel grabbed Sebastian's collar and shoulder after he missed a punch, and ran toward the fence with every intention of hurling him away.

But, instead of slamming into the fence as expected, Sebastian took advantage of the momentum to kick the fence and jump back, slamming into Jekel and sending the red-haired man to the sand-covered ground. Before he had time to recover, Volke's godfather had a dagger against his throat, and Sebastian crouching over him with a triumphant grin.

"I'm still better, I guess," the golden-eyed assassin chuckled. "Although you put up a good fight. I'm surprised."

Sebastian got off Jekel and turned to the young men. "Please note, novices, that you must always try to keep a fight short, and not fight until you are on the edge of fainting from exhaustion," he said. "Either you win quickly, or you flee. Don't act foolishly, there is nothing I want less than digging other graves." The trainees nodded dutifully, and Sebastian allowed a small smile to cross his lips. "Well, the training field is all yours, young ones."

After a round of "Thank you, Master" and "Good day to you, Master", Sebastian and Jekel exited the training pit and walked back into the castle.

Volke took it as his cue to pull on his boots and go meet them.

He caught sight of the two men in the hallway as he walked down the stairs; his one-eared godfather was mumbling things which, given Sebastian's smug smile, had to be curses and promises that he would get his revenge. The brown-haired assassin waved him off with a grin, and Jekel moodily walked away, heading to the other flight of stairs in the hallway.

As soon as his red-haired friend was out of sight, Sebastian's grin disappeared instantly and his face took on a sour look. As he got closer, Volke took notice of the dark bags under his father's golden eyes, and the exhausted state of his features was a condemning testimony of a long, sleepless night. Volke felt guilty; tired as he had been, he had failed to realize that his father would have a hard time coping with his wife's and daughters' deaths. And while the teenager had happily slept the exhaustion away, Sebastian must have tossed and turned, or never gone to bed in the first place.

What that man, his father, this obviously broken man with shoulders slumped and downcast eyes, an assassin? He would never have suspected.

"Good morning, Father," Volke called out softly.

Sebastian's shoulders visibly straightened, and when he turned to his son there was a genuine smile on his lips – which, however, didn't lessen his sad features. "Good morning, son, or should I say good afternoon, since you slept most of the day away," he answered with a good-hearted chuckle.

Volke inwardly groaned; he didn't know why, but he doubted sleeping in was considered a good thing in this town. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sleep this late," he apologized quietly.

"You were tired, son, tired and a mental wreck. You don't have to feel sorry for anything."

Volke nodded automatically and let his father lead him away to a bright red corridor he had yet to discover; on their way, many youngsters in gray clothes – novices, Volke reminded himself, novices – bowed their heads to Sebastian and gave him respectful greetings, which were returned. Volke stuck to nodding numbly, desperately hoping that he didn't look as messed up as he felt.

The further they walked, the less they came across people. Soon, the red-colored walls fell to a dull gray and the corridor became a little narrower, a little less lit because of a general lack of windows. Volke wondered where his father was heading at the exact moment the older man turned and began climbing a small staircase; the teenager followed suit, his thighs screaming in the process in reminder of four days spent on horseback, but he swallowed his pain and ascended the steps.

His agony was short-lived, though, for after a few steps they came at the top of the stairs, in front of a unique, dark, heavy oak door.

"This is my study," Sebastian announced once Volke was at his side. "I keep very important and vital things in here," he added as he pushed the heavy door open.

"And you don't lock it?" his son blurted out before he thought.

Sebastian gave him a half-grin. "Son, you're among assassins. A locked door isn't even the beginning of a problem."

Volke nodded, berating himself inwardly for not thinking about it sooner. He stepped in after his father, closing the door behind himself as he took a look around.

The walls, made of wood, were painted a deep soothing brown which, in spite of the three windows adorning the walls, gave the room a dark appearance. On Volke's right, there were two large bookcases filled up with books which edges had no titles; some looked well-kept, and others were torn-up.

Under one of the windows, there was a large chest, and Volke could tell that its purpose was definitely different from his own chest's in his room. Intricate designs stretched across its sides, marring the brown wood with slashes of silver and gold. On the lid, above the impressive but unused bolt, three distinct shapes had been carved into the wood: but from his position next to the door, Volke could only make out a sitting wolf, or a dog, a flying bird, and some kind of fish.

His golden eyes shifted when Sebastian sat behind a massive desk, on the far side of the room, facing the door. Opening a drawer, he smiled and made a vague gesture with his arm toward a chair. "I'm sure you'd rather sit while you ask your questions."

Volke grabbed the chair and set it on the other side of the desk, sitting down. A thousand questions were doing cartwheels in his mind; why had Sebastian left? Why had he chosen to be an assassin? What was it like to be a Master?

"Who is the Wolf?" he asked, his mouth moving on its own, and he felt really stupid for a few seconds. But when his father chuckled, he knew that it was all right. "Everyone keeps mentioning him," he mumbled.

"I thought you would have figured it out already," the Master said. "I think I'm going to start from the beginning, it will be easier for you to understand."

Sebastian sat back in his chair and stroked his chin with callused fingers, thoughtful. "I think everything started about twenty-four years ago," he began at last, "At that time I was sixteen, and already a killer. Not an assassin, though: my father was a mercenary and, more often than not, I helped him out. Most of the time, our work involved hunting and killing packs of wolves and bears that were attacking villages in the mountains – these mountains, actually. One day, in the middle of a job, we came across a wounded laguz; a female cat, to be precise. My father took her to our home and we tended to her. Soon, she told us that she was a slave, and that she had escaped from a town just outside of the mountains. She told us she was grateful we saved her as she was about to die from thirst and hunger."

Sebastian sighed, and Volke knew that the story was going to take a bad turn. "Unfortunately, she had been followed, and we soon had men knocking on our door, demanding that we hand her over. Of course, my father refused. He shut the door in their face and told them that he would never be accused of favoring slavery in Daein. I thought that was the end of it; but in the morning, I woke up to find the laguz gone, and my father with his throat wide open in his bed."

_Murdered, _Volke thought grimly, and he hoped his grandfather had passed away painlessly.

"Seeing as my mother died while giving birth to me, and my father had just been killed, I was completely alone. Much like you were five days ago," Sebastian spoke softly, stroking a blank sheet of paper on his desk. "Blinded by anger, I ran, away from the mountains, away from the pain. If I had been thinking right, though, I would have realized that I was heading straight to the desert, but I only noticed when I passed out on the parched earth. I was going to die and I didn't give a damn.

But fate had other plans; I was saved by a young wyvern rider who happened to fly by and saw me lying there. He strapped me to his wyvern and brought me back to some sort of shelter. When I opened my eyes, hours later, I was surprised to see my savior looked far worst than I did; he had gashes across his chest, bruises on his face, but what shocked me was his left ear."

"What about it?" Volke couldn't help but ask.

"He had none. There was a gaping hole and deep slashes over the left side of his face, all of them still bloody and already swelling."

"Jekel." Volke instinctively turned to the window, from which he could see the fighting pit, expecting to see the man there. But his godfather wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Sebastian nodded. "You guessed right. He showed me his dented armor, and told me he was a Daein soldier. He had been sent on a laguz hunt with his comrades, but he had run away after disobeying orders and setting four young hawks free instead of killing them. He couldn't go back, he would be executed. I, for my part, had nowhere to go. We started traveling together, on his wyvern, and we talked for hours. He told me he never wanted to kill innocents again, and I told him I wished there was some way to punish those who killed or harmed innocents. We didn't know back then, but the main idea of Arkane was already forming in our minds.

On our way to the seaside, we met Shork, a former sailor. He was sitting in a field, I still remember clearly, the spitting picture of a broken man. He hadn't eaten for days, that much was obvious, and it took some coaxing to make him talk, but in the end he told us that pirates had attacked his town and, while they had been easily repelled, the soldiers of the town had decided to take advantage of the confusion to do whatever they pleased. And that was how his wife got raped and murdered, his two year-old son trampled to death, and his house burnt. Out of the three of us, I still think Shork has lost the most."

"Where is he now? I haven't been introduced to him yet," Volke asked, curious.

"Oh, I definitely hope you don't meet him soon." When his son gave him a puzzled look, Sebastian sighed. "He died, two years ago. Pneumonia. There was nothing we could do."

Volke nodded, quietly grieving for that man he hadn't even met. He patiently waited for his father to collect his thoughts and continue his story, which the man did after a few seconds.

"At that point, we were three men who had been stripped of everything, and we had nothing to lose. We didn't fear for our lives, for we would not be missed. So we began to do what we thought was right, and my revenge came first. I killed the slave trader who had my father killed, and freed the slaves, beorc and laguz alike. Many had nowhere to go, so we took them all and traveled to the only place I knew we could hide: the mountains. Together, we built this place, and named it Arkane, the Hidden City. Jekel and I hunted and brought back food, and while Shork was a poor fighter, he was definitely a perfect architect. The three of us ruled over this town, teaching people our beliefs, and swearing that we would do our best to bring peace all over this planet, on earth, in the skies or beyond the sea, by all possible means. And people soon took to calling us the Wolf, the Hawk and the Shark." With each word, Sebastian let his fingers run over the carvings on the large chest.

"Why those animals?" Volke asked, now a bit more at ease.

"Well, Jekel was a wyvern rider at that point, and the story about him freeing the little hawks got quite famous. He naturally became the Hawk. The name Shork kind of sounds like "shark", and Shork was a sailor before meeting us. As for me..."

His father's voice trailed off, and Volke tilted his head to the side. "Why are you the Wolf?"

"... Have you ever heard of the Branded, son?"

Volke frowned, searching through his memories. "I guess," he answered. "I was told they were the result of the coupling of a beorc and a laguz, but I don't think they exist. It just doesn't sound possible."

Instead of replying with words, Sebastian rolled up his sleeve and laid his arm on the desk, exposing a red design that looked like a tattoo on his forearm. Volke gasped; he had seen drawings and read texts about the Branded, but he considered it a myth, a legend. Up until now. "I was born in Begnion, and my mother was a wolf laguz," Sebastian spoke up once more. "The loss of her abilities and power took its toll on her right after I was born, and she died while my father stood there, unable to help. He left everything behind and came here to raise me, he gave up on his old life so nobody would bother his Branded son, a half-wolf. This Brand is the reason people here call me the Wolf."

Volke gulped. "But if you are a Branded, then I... ?"

Sebastian shook his head. "Your mother's beorc blood was thicker than mine, you've got no Brand that I know of, and neither do... neither did your sisters. You three were safe... well at least that's what I thought."

Volke rubbed his bandaged hands together; that was much information at once, maybe too much in such a short amount of time, but he needed to know. Else he couldn't face the future. "So... how did you meet Mom?"

"She was one of my targets, for a short while," Sebastian said, and a small but fond smile stretched across his lips. "She was the daughter of a Duke, and accused of harming the people of the dukedom, and stealing their goods. After a few days of spying, it became clear that it was actually her father doing all these things, but I couldn't kill him before he officially gave back everything he had taken. So I was left with only one choice: blackmail. I kidnapped his daughter and brought her back here, threatening to kill her if the Duke didn't stop his tyranny. Of course, what the Duke decided really didn't matter, for I would never have let Malika walk out of Arkane with its exact location in mind, ready to share it with everyone who wanted us dead.

But the Duke laughed and said he couldn't care less about what happened to his daughter. The bastard was quickly taken care of, but there was a problem about Malika. We couldn't let her run away, she would tell everyone that crossed her path where we were – if she even made it out of the mountains. But we couldn't kill her either, she had done nothing wrong. So she just stayed here, and she wasn't too happy about it."

"I guess it wasn't love at first sight, then?" Volke asked, a weak smile gracing his features.

"That's an understatement: we _hated _each other. Well, actually, she hated me, I just saw her as a nuisance, a bother, and I only regretted kidnapping her. We gave her nice quarters, a horse, we even offered her a few jobs, anything really to make up for what we had stolen from her and couldn't give back; her freedom. At first she turned every offer down, and just sulked. But then she warmed up to some of the laguz children we had, and started to teach them how to read and write. Soon after, she came up to me and shyly asked me if she could transform one of the rooms in the castle into some sort of classroom, and I happily agreed. Things quickly escalated from there; she opened up to me, we started to share stories about our pasts... and then, irremediably, I fell for her.

It was a matter deeply frowned upon, but we got married the following year. I wasn't always here, what with my assignments and everything, but I found some time to father a son, born in August. Volke, the Living one."

Volke sent another weak smile; so he was born here, in Arkane. He had no memories of this place but, curiously, it felt a bit like home. Not like his house in Drizzia, of course, but just knowing that Arkane was his hometown made it seem less threatening. Even though it was filled with assassins.

He snapped his focus back to his father when Sebastian's slight smile fell. "But of course, good things never last as long as we would want them to. Two years after your birth, a squadron of knights rode past our gate, and decided to stop to investigate. We managed to hold them off, but barely, and to this day we still hope none of them escaped, and that they were here by accident, and not because they knew our location. This made me realize that Arkane was... no place to have a family. And with your mother pregnant with your sisters, I didn't want to take any chance. Malika wasn't very happy about it, but I had Jekel lead you all to Drizzia after your sisters were born and fit to travel. Although I couldn't watch as you grew, I felt relieved that you weren't in direct danger because of my lifestyle, and it got even better when Jekel offered to live in Drizzia to watch over the four of you, still completing assignments on the side. I dropped by, once in a while, but always at night and undercover. I know this isn't the kind of life you needed, nor is it the kind of life I had imagined, and sometimes, I wonder if you wouldn't have been safer here, in Arkane."

A heavy silence settled between the two men, and sadness over more than half of their family's death washed over them once again.

"I should consider myself lucky, however," Sebastian said softly after a while, "that Ashera saw fit to leave my first born unharmed, and return him to me." The Wolf raised his head, locking his golden eyes on his now only son. "I don't know of your intentions, boy, or your take on the future, but I must warn you: I don't plan on letting go of you anytime soon."


End file.
